He went into the lion’s den with as little as a tattered loincloth. Oodles of teeth stared at his bare flesh, drenched with the company of desire and spit. He grabbed his staff and waved it near their faces with those deep green eyes of hate, scattering them back. One nibbled on the edge, and he smiled back.


2 comments so far

  1. I hope you will one day take all these fabulous story starts and develop them into plotlines. 😉

  2. Michelle Johnson on

    this is great, Noah~ keep up the good work. good night~

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